A Fight Lost
by reesybaby
Summary: My ideas on what the Dementors Kiss would be like. Just an idea that popped up when I was bored and was waiting for the day to end. Please review! Oh, and it's up to you whom you think it is at the end.....


A/N - Everything belongs to JKR, as always. I just borrow it for a while.

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The man chained between the great stone pillars in the middle of the room was pathetic at best. His clothes, whilst they might have once belonged to a fine gentleman, were ragged and dirty; hanging limply from his thin, gaunt body. His entire posture was one of defeat; shoulders drooping and head bowed. The only things that appeared to be keeping him upright were the old, tarnished chains that were attached to the heavy manacles about his wrist. Long, dirty blond hair hung over his face, shielding his emotions from view. Had anyone been able to see his face, they would have seen that his eyes had tears welling in them. He blinked them back, refusing to let them see his weakness. There was only one who was allowed to see that side of him.

The room had a general aura of despair about it, aside from the pair of nightmarish, hooded figures that floated above the man. The high, windowless walls were cold and uninviting; rough, as if they had been hewn from a single rock. Stiff wooden benches lined the circular walls, each giving a good view of the dais on which the man was chained. Normally, an event like this would be witnessed by those there in an official capacity, but today, today the benches were overflowing. Hundreds of eyes peered at him through the gloom, each of them waiting with bated breath.

Before the benches, two gleaming Patronuses paced back and forth, protecting the onlookers from the Dementors' harrowing effects. One a fluffy cat and the other a Cocker Spaniel, they both glowed particularly bright; as if their conjurers were pleased at what was going on. Indeed, their faces were the happiest in the room and were clearly visible in the contingent of robed officials.

"Lucius Malfoy." Cornelius Fudge spoke clearly in the hushed room. "As was determined one month previously, you have been brought here in order for the sentence of the Dementor's Kiss to be carried out." The only sound when he did not speak was the rattling of the Dementors' breath.

"Is there anything you wish to say, Mr Malfoy," Fudge asked cruelly, "before we continue?"

"What I wish to say to you, Minister," his voice was hoarse, as if it had not been used for some time, "is not decent for the present company." Although he spoke, he did not lift his head to look at him. He did not wish Fudge to see the fear in his eyes.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sat in the back row of benches, directly facing Lucius. Indeed, most of the back row was taken up by Order members. Dumbledore was of course there, along with Snape, Moody, Sirius, Lupin, Kingsley, Tonks, McGonagall and Mr Weasley. Harry was sat with his elbows on the bench in front, his head in his hands as he watched.

"Very well." Fudge gave a solemn nod and the Dementors swooped down.

Long months in Azkaban had dulled him somewhat to the Dementors' effects. Unleashing two at once, however, was unbearable. They tore at his mind; leeching every morsel of happiness out of him. The pain that he felt at her absence was amplified tenfold; the Dementors feeding on it like it was their last meal. He tried his best to hang onto the image of her face, his hands twisting around the chains at his wrists and using the last vestiges of his strength to remain upright.

Few could watch dispassionately; many peering through fingers, unable to take it in with both eyes, whilst others had hands clamped over their mouths in shock. They were aware that it would not be pleasant to watch, but they hadn't imagined that it would be this animated. They could see the pain in his face as he tried to fight it and the way he body shook from the effort. The only dispassionate faces in the room were those of the pair whose Patronuses protected the onlookers.

Things were starting to fade. His vision was less clear. It felt as if something was being bodily ripped from him, as if someone was slowly slicing off his arm. He kept her in his mind, trying to picture her face whilst he could still remember it. He would have felt more comfort had she been there. If anything, he wanted her to be the last thing he saw, the last thing he thought of.

The battle lost, his knees buckled beneath him, finally resigned to the inevitable. His sight grew ever darker; the fight was over. Feeling ceased, thought ceased. Years of memories disappeared into oblivion. Knowledge was obliterated in an instant and he no longer remembered his name.

It was all over with a quite mundane finality. The Dementors rose back towards the ceiling, leaving their victim collapsed on the dais. His eyes were now vacant and staring, his face slack jawed and devoid of any of the expression that had been as much a part of him as his blond hair. Everything that he had once been was gone and only one person, on her knees before a portrait, shed tears for him.


End file.
